


The Kirkwall Medic

by Gremkt



Series: The Kirkwall Medic [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders’ clinic, Gen, Kirkwall, minor description of an injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-14 07:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremkt/pseuds/Gremkt
Summary: My thoughts on how Anders became a healer for the refugees and other poor in Kirkwall. Set after Anders arrived in Kirkwall but before he met Hawke, up until the point where he decides to offer his services to the residents of Darktown.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was only meant to be short but I enjoyed writing it and kept adding things so it ended up being a heap longer than I planned with a bunch of extra detail whoops. 
> 
> When he arrives in Kirkwall, I imagine Anders struggling a lot with self hatred and fear, trying to hide himself away because he feels like he’s dangerous and because… y’know, he’s an apostate mage in Kirkwall and a runaway from both the Templars AND the Grey Wardens. He and Justice are also learning how to live with each other. I don’t think Anders would be able to ignore people in need, and it would mean a lot to him for the refugees to place their trust in him. 
> 
> Full disclosure: I haven’t played Awakening, so I don’t really know pre-DA2 Anders or Justice outside of fan content, so I hope I did them justice (no pun intended lol) and didn’t mischaracterise either of them horribly! This is only edited quickly by me so there may be mistakes :)

Anders sat in the corner, watching the group of Ferelden refugees go about the tasks of their daily lives. A fire burned dimly nearby, surrounded by dirty canvas tents and the minimal supplies and belongings that had survived the journey from their homes. They had welcomed him, not necessarily with open arms, but with as must trust as they were able given the situation they found themselves in. It was generous but Anders hadn’t been able to fully accept their welcome. He was too much of a risk - an apostate, a deserter, murderer, unpredictable. He’d always had a temper, one that he’d learnt to try and hide around the Templars, albeit with varying degrees of success. The things that angered him typically angered Justice too, and controlling his temper  _ and _ the temper of the spirit was a challenge, one he didn’t want to risk losing around the innocent families already fleeing. Enough people had been hurt on his watch or by him and he didn’t want more. 

There was also no telling how these people would feel about his magic. If he gave them a hint of who he really was, they may walk straight to the Gallows, and he didn’t trust what would happen to Justice, to him, if the Templars tried to imprison them, not now. 

No, for now he would accept the help of these people but for their sakes, for his own, for Justice, he would keep himself at a distance, trading elfroot potions and minor, non-magical medical care for food and the marginal security a group provided. It gave him the chance to hide, pray that the Wardens wouldn’t know where he had disappeared to, and to try and find information about Karl. Was he even still here?

“Help!” A desperate cry echoed through the narrow passages of Darktown. As the refugees reacted, some reaching for daggers, some scrambling for shelter and safety, mothers calling to their children in fear, Anders was already on his feet, Justice urging him on. “Maker, somebody please help me!”

_ To the left, _ Justice said as Anders hurried towards the source of the shout, nearly colliding with the woman staggering towards him as he rounded the corner. She clutched a man in her arms, blood blossoming across his shirt, staining her arms and hands and spreading onto her dress. 

“My son,” she wept, struggling under the weight of the injured man. “He was trying to protect me, but they had knives. Maker please help me, I can’t lose him, not as well. Please help me, help him.” 

Anders swore quietly. A dangerous amount of blood already covered the man’s clothes, and Maker knows what he may have been exposed to already in the sewers of Darktown. He’d seen the quality of the blades some of these gangs used and it was hard to keep  _ anything _ clean down here. 

_ Help him _ Justice said. 

_ As if I wouldn’t _ , he thought back, pushing the spirit away. He needed to focus now and he didn’t want the distraction of Justice taking up space in his thoughts. 

The man was heavy in his arms as he lifted him from his mother, carrying him back to the open square full of refugees. He felt a courtyard full of eyes fall on him, some curious, some scared. 

“Does anyone have a knife?” he called, laying the man on his back near the fire. The gathered people huddled close together, but nobody reacted. “A knife,” he repeated, firmer. “This man is dying, I need your help.” 

A scrawny teenager, barely old enough for the scrawny beard on his face, stepped forward tentatively with a blade outstretched. Anders reached for it, glancing back at the sobbing mother who had followed him into the square. 

“Somebody find this woman a blanket,” he added and two women rushed forward to her, another grabbing a blanket from a tent on her way over. One patient was enough - he didn’t want a second going into shock. The other refugee women wrapped the cloth around her and guided her to sit by the fire, arms around her as they murmured comforting words in her ear. 

The knife wasn’t the sharpest - somebody really should teach the youngster how to sharpen his blade - but it served the purpose of cutting away the man’s blood stained shirt to access the wound. As the full extent of the injury was revealed, Anders swore under his breath again. It was bad, worse than it had looked initially and he hadn’t had high expectations to begin with. Justice buzzed angrily at the edge of his consciousness. 

_ He was not a warrior in battle. Why would they hurt him like this? _

Anders ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. The wound slashed its way deeply across the man’s chest, cutting into his arm as well. It was deep and he’d already lost a lot of blood. He was unconscious but his laboured breathing indicated he was still alive, at least for now. 

“I need clean rags, bandages, anything,” he said, pressing the remnants of the man’s shirt against the cut and hoping that the dirt on the clothing would do less damage than further loss of blood. “And you,” he pointed to the scrawny teen still standing nearby, “there’s elfroot potion in my satchel, in the corner there. Get it. The green bottles.” 

Justice sunk deeper out of Anders’ thoughts, recognising the man needed all of his host’s attention. The clinking of bottles behind him told him the boy was following his instructions as a woman pressed clean rags into his hands. The blood saturated them almost immediately as he pressed them against the wounds.

“Can you boil some new ones, make sure they’re clean? We’ll need to clean the wound.” He asked, looking up at the woman who had given them to him without lifting his hands from the man’s bleeding chest. She nodded, turning back to the fire. Anders heard her shout something to somebody but his focus was back with the man. 

‘Here ser.” The boy held the bottle of elfroot potion out to him. Anders directed him to take over pressing the cloth against the wound. Supporting the man’s head, he pressed the bottle to his lips, ensuring the unconscious man was swallowing correctly. No use your patient choking to death while you tried to save them. He swapped the bloody rag for a new one, taking over from the boy again. The potion - or the time passed - seemed to stem the flow of blood slightly but it wasn’t enough. 

“A needle and thread. Heat the needle over the flames if you can,” he called. He’d been around this camp long enough to know a number of the women would have one easily accessible. 

_ Help him _ . Justice rose closer to the surface. 

_ I’m  _ trying _ ,  _ Anders thought back at him, trying unsuccessfully to push him away again.

_ Anders _ . Justice persisted, refusing to give Anders the space his brain needed to focus.  _ You must  _ help  _ him.  _

Anders shook his head, knowing exactly what Justice meant. 

_ I can’t. I can’t risk the Circle again, not until I know what we’re up against. Not until I know what we can do, or while we’re still working this out. I can’t...I can’t find Karl if I’m locked up.  _

He tried to hide the last thought from Justice but he knew it was no use. The problem with sharing a body was sharing everything, thoughts and all.

_ You must help him _ , Justice repeated and Anders cursed the spirit. There was a reason he had offered this partnership and it wasn’t just to help his friend. His values, his drive for justice and fairness, aligned with the values of the spirit of Justice. But it was harder to pretend that wasn’t the case, to ignore what he knew was right in favour of his own self preservation, with Justice always there. 

He glanced up quickly at the people gathered around him. The weeping mother, supported by the other women around her, the scared children hiding behind mothers. It wouldn’t be fair to prioritise his own safety over the life of somebody else, not when he was already risking these people with his mere presence. 

“Step back,” he warned the people closest, laying both hands on the man’s chest. This could be done quickly and from a distance like he often did in battle but it was always more effective close up, when he had the time to concentrate and make sure it was done right. His magic welled up from inside him, warmth spreading along his arms to his fingers and into the man’s chest, sparking across and into the wound. The soft green light surrounded his fingers, lighting up the pale, sickly face of the injured man. Anders felt his eyes close as he focused on knitting the skin and muscle together, choosing to sense what was happening rather than look. Voices muttered behind him but he shut them out, not wanting to make a mistake. Healing in battle was a quick thing, healing surface level injuries and maintaining stamina to finish the battle and being able to take the time like this was a gift. 

Satisfied the wound was healed enough, Anders opened his eyes, sitting back to check his work. The mark was long and still raw looking. He had done as much as he could, enough to stop the bleeding and mend the injury, but the man would still need to rest and recover on his own. 

Around him, the soft mutter of voices persisted, fading into silence as he glanced up and looked at the people around him. All eyes were on him. One man leant muttered something to the man next to him and Anders could just imagine what he was saying. Mage. Apostate. Danger. A woman wrapped her arm around her two children and pulled them in close. Anders had seen these reactions before, that fear that magic, that demons, that  _ he  _ would hurt them. 

_ You help them and yet they fear you _ Justice though, anger rising in Anders’ chest. He pushed it down. They already feared him, and seeing Justice would only give them further reason.

He pushed himself to his feet, bloody rags hitting the floor. His robes were undoubtedly marked now too, a hazard of being a healer. In the corner, he could see his bag, scrawled opened with bottles spilling haphazardly out. 

At the fire, a woman stood near the boiling rags he had requested. She had been one of the most responsive to his requests, bringing the blanket and the clean rags, so he approached her. 

“Elfroot,” he said, hanging her three of the bottles. “In the morning and the evening, it’ll help the healing. This one will help with any pain. The wound will take time to finish healing completely, he will need to rest. Keep the wound area clean and there’ll be even less chance of a scar.”

The woman nodded at him, one quick dip of her head, meeting his eyes steadily. She opened her mouth as if to talk but Anders didn’t give her the chance. 

“I won’t stay and put you further at risk. Thank you all for your hospitality.” Shouldering his pack, he nodded at the teenager who had helped him, who still had hands covered in blood, and glanced at the mother sitting by the fire. With one last look at the injured man, still unconscious but now breathing regular, deep breaths, he rounded the corner and strode up the stairs and away from the refugee camp. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders is terrified Templars are coming to drag him away at any minute but still can’t resist helping a mother and child in need :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to check for mistakes but no guarantee I caught them all!

It had been three days since Anders had shown the refugees who he really was. He took pride in who he was, refused to feel shame for the way he was born, but he wouldn’t blame those poor people for believing what they’d been taught their whole lives. Mages were dangerous, it was a simple fact everyone was taught and nobody questioned unless they wanted to deal with the Templars. He was safer away from them, and them without him. 

Understanding it hadn’t made the last three days living in constant fear that the Templars were already seeking him out any easier. 

_ You did the right thing _ .

Justice had been trying to convince him ever since he had fled the makeshift camp. Anders knew he was right but it didn’t help the ever present fear that Templars were waiting around every corner, just waiting to drag him to the Gallows. 

Justice hadn’t experienced living in the Circle, under the watchful eyes of the Templars, and Anders wasn’t sure if he really understood what might face them there. Who knew what might happen to Justice if they were made Tranquil, assuming they even let them live that long. And between tranquility and death, Anders really wasn’t sure which he’d prefer.

He took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts of tranquility away and wondered if he’d be better off squatting in Lowtown. There were more guards there but less chance of being spotted by scared refugees now able to identify him as an apostate. 

The sound of footsteps echoed up the hallway, volume increasing as the owner approach, and he curled in on himself, trying to make himself seem small and insignificant, just another unfortunate soul spending his days in the shadows of Darktown. Magic pulsed inside him as he pulled it closer to the surface, preparing to defend himself. If he was quick, he could stun somebody and escape without causing any lasting harm. 

A woman shuffled past, a baby clutched in her arms, toddler sticking close to her skirts and Anders felt some of the tension in his muscles ease. 

The little boy stopped, gazing at Anders, who was too slow to avert his eyes. This was a child too young to fear him, too young to have learnt that mages were meant to be locked away and enslaved. The expression on his face was pure curiosity. 

A gasp interrupted his thoughts and he looked up, startled, to find the mother staring at him. 

“It’s you,” she said, eyes wide. “You’re the man who saved Tomas.”

Anders tensed, fingers twitching, ready to react and make his escape but he didn’t want to hurt the children, to scare them, give them a reason to fear him and those like him. So instead he nodded, pushing himself to his feet, readying himself to run if necessary, Justice rising to just below the surface. 

The woman pressed her baby even closer to her chest, one hand stoking the baby’s soft hair.

“Are you a healer?” Her words were quick, as though she felt like she should not be asking. 

Anders hesitated for a split second. 

“Yes,” he said, not seeing the point in lying. The woman knew who he was already, She had seen his magic already. Admitting it wouldn’t damn him any further than he already was and she’d given him no reason to lie. 

So quickly he barely registered it happening, the baby against his chest. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the child, not wanting any harm to come to it.

“Can you help her?” the woman looked at him, the hint of tears in her eyes. The toddler huddled close to his mother’s legs, chubby fingers twisting into the dirty fabric. “She has such an awful cough, I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything but she’s just getting worse.” 

Anders looked at the child in his arms. The sleeping infant was pale but didn’t appear seriously ill. She was tiny, her features delicate, and Anders wondered if the woman had travelled while pregnant or if this babe had already made the long journey from Ferelden with her family in a ship full of desperate refugees. 

“You would trust me with your child?” he asked. His throat felt tight, a feeling that intensified when the woman nodded. “Why?”

The children in the Tower had always liked him and the Templars and senior mages alike liked having assistance with them, but the only children he had ever been trusted to spend time with were mage children. He was too much of a risk to the  _ normal _ children. Besides, nobody wanted to teach  _ normal _ children,  _ safe  _ children to view mages in a positive way. 

“You gave us aid,” she said, tears welling up and threatening to spill out and down her face. “There are very few people in Kirkwall who care about us, but you, you helped us. Helped Tomas. That isn’t the choice of a dangerous man.”

“Can you hold her for a moment?” Anders asked, passing her back and placing his hands gently upon her. The warm light surrounded his hands as the magic reached inside her, seeking out any issues. It quickly found one - the girl’s lungs were heavily congested, which would undoubtedly be causing the cough and likely be making it hard to breathe. Gently, he sent tendrils of magic creeping in, clearing as much of the irritation and soothing her sore lungs. He worked delicately, not wanting to risk any damage to the girl. 

When he had healed as much as he was comfortable doing, he lifted his hands and stepped back. 

“Her lungs were inflamed,” he explained. “It may take some time but she’ll be fine.”

“Maker bless you,” said the woman, adjusting the blankets around her child. “We are all blessed to have you here.”

This time it was Anders’ chest that tightened with emotion. His magic was a gift, he’d worked hard to recognise that, but most people recoiled in horror when they discovered it. He noticed the older child staring at him with wide eyes, fixated on his hands, and decided to take one more risk. 

Drawing once more on that pool of magic, he cast a handful of snowflakes, blowing them towards the child with a puff of breath. One landed on the boy’s nose and he jumped back, giggling. 

“I should go before the market closes,” the woman said. “Would… would you like payment? I don’t have much but…” She fumbled with a coin pouch on her belt, trying to keep the baby steady at the same time. It was obvious that the purse was practically empty, and given the state of her clothes, he didn’t think that was an uncommon occurrence. 

“I cannot accept your money,” he said. He didn’t have much but with two children, she would need any coin more than him. It would be wrong to risk this family struggling simply for doing something that he was born with. “Use it to take care of your family.” 

“May Andraste guide you,” she said. “You are a good man.” 

Anders watched her go, the toddler looking back at him as he followed his mother. As the small family disappeared up the stairs, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the idea that I started with, Anders helping a mother and her child and being super touched that the woman actually trusted him, a dangerous mage, with her child! But I needed the previous chapter to make it work, because I couldn’t work out why she’d be giving him her baby or why it would mean so much to him if she didn’t already know he was a mage. 
> 
> The next part is almost properly finished too!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders is considers the possibility of helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My understanding of Awakening Anders is that he’s scared to fight back and would rather avoid confrontation and hide out of self preservation and fear of the Templars/Chantry. Based on that, I couldn’t see him just walking into Kirkwall and being like what’s up let’s start a clinic, so I tried to think what might give him a push to helping the refugees in such an ongoing and organised way! 
> 
> Spoiler: it’s not 100% his idea

“You.”

The voice startled Anders. He hadn’t heard anybody coming, an unusual occurrence for him. Acting on instinct, his magic lept to the surface, the beginnings of his spell cooling his fingertips. 

“You’re a hard man to find,” she continued and Anders let out a hoarse laugh.

"I've had practice," he said, pushing himself to his feet. Sitting on the ground put him at a disadvantage and he'd learnt to be prepared. 

"I can imagine," the woman replied, her tone softening slightly. Based on her accent, she was Ferelden, but her clothes were nicer than most. "My youngest brother was like you."

"Devilishly handsome?" Anders' was lighthearted but he could feel his heart beating in his arms, and his magic - and Justice - remained simmering just below the surface.

"Cocky," she replied, raising an eyebrow at him. "I can't imagine the Templars liked you anymore than they liked him." 

"I can’t imagine they like any mage much." Anders tried not to sound bitter. He didn’t feel like he’d been successful. 

"Lirene." The woman held out her hand to him. Hesitantly, Anders shook it. 

“Anders.” He contemplated lying but what was the point? If she wanted to turn him in, the Templars would only care that he was a mage. His name would mean little to them. 

Lirene smiled at him. 

"Now Anders, when was the last time you ate a proper meal?" 

  
* * *   
  


Lirene invited him to the store she owned in Lowtown. Her husband was from Kirkwall originally, she explained, so she'd been here longer than most of the Fereldens in Kirkwall. When he passed, she'd kept the store, aiding the refugees where she could. 

"Larissa told me what you did for her," Lirene said when Anders was seated out the back, bowl of soup on the table in front of him. She pottered around the back of the shop tidying as she talked. "The mother you helped," she clarified at his blank look. "Why did you do it?" 

Anders had been asking himself the same question but he knew the answer. He’d known from the instant that baby had rested in his arms. Asking made it easier to pretend he wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat, no matter the risk to himself. Not that he’d be able convince himself he wouldn’t withJustice around anyway. 

"She needed help." 

"Weren't you scared? Most apostate mages hide their magic."

Anders wasn't sure how to answer. Truthfully, he was terrified, still was. Any moment the Templars could storm in and haul him away. Justice rumbled angrily at the thought. But fear didn’t make his needs more important than the needs of others. 

"She already knew I was a mage," he said finally, finishing the bowl of soup. "Helping or not helping, that wouldn't have changed, but not helping meant the child suffered.”

"And Tomas, the injured man?" 

"Perhaps you would be able to let an innocent man die in front of you but I am not capable of such a decision.”

Justice approved of his words, Anders could sense it.

Lirene sat, facing him, meeting his eyes with her own. Uncomfortable, he felt the urge to look away but resisted, gazing back at her steadily. Living with the Templars, he had fought a lot of these subtle battles and he wasn’t letting this shopkeeper challenge him and win. 

“They need you,” she said finally. “The refugees, and the other poor Darktown souls. We have lost too many to illness and injury. Tomas and Larissa’s babe were the lucky ones, thanks to you.” 

Anger flared inside him, anger that he dimly recognised as coming from Justice more than himself. 

_ They deserve better.  _

Anders hushed him. Revealing the spirit, losing control at this point, would be a one way ticket to the Gallows. Justice was right, of course, but patience and timing were nor his strengths. 

_ We can’t help them from the Gallows _ , he chided the spirit,  _ or from beyond the grave. _

“They won’t trust me,” he said to Lirene, hoping he sounded less negative than he felt. “Mages are dangerous. I could bring the Templars down upon them.”

“Life is dangerous.” There was no hesitation in her response. “Darktown is dangerous, they’re already living in danger. Many of our people have no food, no jobs, no homes, and nobody will help them. I do what I can, but my help is limited.” 

Anders sighed, massaging his temple with his fingers. 

“Everything helps, Anders.” The woman leaned in slightly, one hand resting on the table. “It doesn’t have to be magic. Elfroot potions, poultices, even teaching others basic medical care.”

_ I like this one  _ Justice thought. 

_ Of course you do.  _

“I help who I can, when I can,” Lirene continued. “You are included in that Anders. We would appreciate your help but I don't expect it. You are always welcome, no matter what.”

“Always welcome?” He tried not to laugh. Was he really ever welcome anywhere? Was any mage? “Do the other refugees agree with that sentiment? Welcoming an  _ apostate _ ?” He spat out the final word. 

“No.” Lirene’s expression hardened slightly, her tone sharp. “Some weren’t happy. But we made it  _ very  _ clear how welcome you were, Tomas’s brothers in particular. The Templars won’t be bothering you, not if we can help it. Nor will any Fereldens who want our support.”

Anders thought back to the mother, Larissa, pushing her baby into his arms, trusting him, a man she barely knew and who had already revealed himself an apostate. He remembered the tears in her eyes, the delicate features of the tiny sleeping girl, and the laugh of the toddler, reacting to a snowflake on his nose. He thought of the sobbing mother sitting by a fire, clothes stained with her son’s blood and the man’s laboured breathing settling into a more regular rhythm as his muscle knitted back together.

He looked at the now empty bowl sitting in front of him, his belly full of soup, given to him by a woman asking nothing in return.

“You can help them Anders. Please think about that.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. 

“Thank you for the soup,” he said, hating how hollow and insincere the words sounded. “I will see what I can do.” 

Lirene made no attempt to move as he headed out the door, heading back to Darktown and another corner to hide himself away in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying, Lirene is a super minor character I think you meet once in Anders recruitment quest but I love her. I headcanon she and Anders are friends, especially before Anders meets Hawke and co, and that the two of them work together in supporting the refugees! I also hc that she’s one of the leaders of the “protect Anders” club


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring more Anders + children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short but I feel like it was too distinct from the previous part to add there and adding anything else seemed unnecessary.

He hadn’t slept well. All night, his own sense of self preservation had warred with his sense of duty, a mental battle not helped by Justice continuously urging him on. 

_ They will welcome your aid, _ Justice argued once again, sensing his return to indecision.  _ It is better a group be safe. Why help only two? _

“I hate it when you’re right_,_” Anders muttered. He knew he didn’t have to talk out loud for Justice to know what he was saying but it felt more powerful when he did. Of course, that meant he had to balance when he did so to avoid appearing like a madman, or worse, bring suspicion he was conversing with demons.

_ I am not a demon.  _ Justice felt indignant. It was easy to forget he felt everything Anders did, much like Anders felt the spirit’s thoughts and feelings.  _ And I am always right _ . 

Anders did his best to ignore him as he walked through the Darktown passageways. The sound of voices, conversation, children playing echoed from the hallway ahead and he hesitated for a second. 

_ They will welcome you. _

Anders could tell Justice was trying to feel encouraging. Taking a deep breath, he continued forward.

The camp hadn’t changed much in the week or so since he left it. He spotted the previously injured man - Tomas, he now knew - sitting quietly by tent, sharpening a shortsword. His mother sat nearby, a heavily pregnant woman by her side, the pair of them mending well worn clothing. A pot sat over the fire, cooking something that smelt very similar to the soup he had eaten in the shop the night before. 

A hush fell across the gathered refugees as he approached the centre of the courtyard. 

A child broke away from the group and ran towards him. It took a split second for Anders to recognize him as the sick baby’s brother. 

“Again!” he cried, arms reaching up. The corners of Anders mouth twitched as he summoned more snowflakes from the air, once again blowing them towards the child. As the tiny glistening particles landed on the boy’s face, he giggled, shuffling his feet on the ground. 

Anders took another deep breath, steeling his nerves as he looked up to face the camp. 

“I heard you might be in need of a healer,” he said. “My name is Anders and I’m here to help anyone who may need my aid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the helping needed to come before the establishment of the clinic, making the formation of a clinic a necessity! I figure after this, Anders starts helping out with medical issues around the camp, both with magic and non-magic healing. As he gets more and more popular, he gets busier with refugees and others from Darktown and Lowtown and people begin helping out and they find him a dedicated space that turns into the clinic. But that didn’t seem necessary to write. 
> 
> And of course, Anders is always popular with the Darktown kids 😊 I’m sure he inspires at least some of them to take up healing and caring for others, even without magic.


End file.
